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Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Penitent

by Kelly Kraus

The desert had nearly consumed him
last night. He’d fled almost three days ago. With him he’d only
brought a half jug of water and a stale loaf of bread. Both were gone
within a day. His mouth was arid and he was becoming increasingly
weary. If he didn’t get food and water soon, he could die out here.
And no one would know. Or care.

Regardless
of his predicament, returning to the city was necessary. Hunger pangs
cramped his stomach. As a group of hares darted across his path, he
pondered chasing them. They’d make a modest meal. He lacked the
strength for a pursuit of the animals. Famished, he trudged on.

The
trek back to the city was punishing. Mountainous terrain provided
refuge from potential prying eyes. While there were many valleys that
made walking easier, the cliffs were steeper than the valleys were
shallow. Sharp declines scattered the area. All the ravines he came
upon were dry from the scorching heat. Water was a scarcity in this
area.

As
he trudged to the top of the next cliff, the edge of the city was
within sight. While magnificent, its walls were ominous, looming over
the vast desert. They were as familiar to him as those of his
childhood home. He knew where to sneak in and what areas were most
watched. Loose stones scattered the partitions, allowing sly access
to unattended parts of the city. The guards were likely on high alert
since his disappearance. He couldn’t afford a misstep. He kept
fully aware of everything around him.

While creeping towards the city, he
could sense a presence near him. Over his left shoulder there was a
rustle. Something approached him. A buzzard cackled tauntingly. Its
voice laughed at him. Nerves, he told himself. It’s just nerves. He
kept a watchful eye as he neared the main entrance to the city. A
side entrance was also located near his home. That gate would surely
be secured. If he wanted to enter through the main entrance, he would
have to conceal himself. Fortunately, there were vendors outside the
city walls and few patrons to witness his heist. He noticed a man and
woman selling wool robes. They moved slowly through their goods,
making themselves easy targets. Tapping into his talent, he
approached their booth shrewdly from the side. He kept his footsteps
quiet, knowing precisely how to maneuver without detection. The
couple was busy bartering with an old man on a donkey. They were
preoccupied and had their hands filled with goods. Now was his chance
to grab a robe and dash. He subtly snatched a hooded robe and a
battered canteen of water and made off with them. The couple was none
the wiser.

With
his disguise in place and his thirst quenched, the man ventured
nearer the main entrance. A large iron gate sat open, welcoming
outsiders. It was near mid-morning, which meant there would be
minimal surveillance at the gate. A throng of people were entering
and he discretely blended in with the crowd. Keeping his head down
and his eyes peeled, the man kept fully aware of his surroundings.
From their conversation, the man gathered he was in a group of
tourists. Excitement and joy filled their voices. Conversation was
cheerful and the people were preoccupied with each other. A dark eyed
woman next to him cradled her young child, marveling at the beauty of
the city. Here, the man could remain anonymous. No one in the group
would recognize him. If he wanted to remain safe, he needed to stay
with the group as long as possible. The city was always gracious with
tourists. He needn’t worry about being hassled by guards for the
time being.

In
the midst of their tour of the city, the group passed by a quaint
stand that was familiar to the man. A busy booth full of hand woven
rugs, polished jewelry, and shiny trinkets, this was run by his
childhood friend. The friend would certainly recognize him, for they
hadn’t seen each other in months. Peering through the throng of
people, the man found his friend. Fortunately, he was absorbed in
conversation with a local woman. His friend surely wouldn’t peel
his attention away from her. With an aching heart, the man quickly
turned his face in the opposite direction. He longed to confide in
his friend, ask for forgiveness, but he couldn’t risk getting
noticed.

As
the group meandered through the streets, they moved towards the main
attraction: the Temple. This was the most heavily guarded area in the
city. The man’s tired eyes darted from one place to the next. He
was well acquainted with the area. Hulking guards had last detained
him just a few blocks from here, near the local jeweler. Security
would undoubtedly be tighter now.

The
tourists pushed closer to the Temple, eager to get a glimpse of the
famous site. The magnificent building towered above them. White
stone with gold embellishments glimmered in the sunlight.
Eavesdropping was unnecessary. Collective amazement was felt
throughout the group. People chattered, moved by the beauty of the
structure. Two wrinkled elderly women had tears in their eyes,
marveling at something they’d waited their entire lives to see. The
man, however, had seen the building countless times. He was
disenchanted with it.

The
man’s attention remained focused on slipping away. As the group
pressed on, he grew more anxious to find a way out. There were a
number of darkened back alleys and underground tunnels in this area
he could slink into. He grew more uneasy as they moved forward. Stoic
guards were within feet of him. He kept his well known face as veiled
as he could with his hood and robe. Moving laterally was his only
choice. The group was flanked by guards in the front and back. The
area to his left looked clear as far as he could tell. He began
nudging his way through the crowd, making sure he didn’t use too
much force. A single agitated person bellowing at him would cause
alarm with the guards. Any sort of disturbance would put him in a
dire situation.

The
man was nearly to the edge of the group. Roughly two rows of people
separated him from an open space in the city square. For a moment, he
was unsure of whether he should venture out. But the water he
snatched in front of the gates only put a dent in his thirst. He
needed sustenance. He knew just the place to find it. Three blocks
for the town square was a small bakery. It was owned by an
acquaintance of the man’s father. He knew they’d have fresh
bread. The man was well aware of the risk he was taking by going to
the bakery. Many people there could recognize him. He had no other
option. It was the closest shop and he could quickly grab what he
needed.

He
was now standing at the edge of the group. An alley was fifty steps
from where he was standing. He had to chance it. He would surely
collapse without a meal. Venturing out, a sense of confidence took
over. He’d eluded capture many times. This time would be no
different. He maintained a brisk pace as he left the crowd. The
distance to the alley seemed greater than it had when he was in the
crowd. Keep your head down and your speed up, he reminded himself. He
had nearly made it when a surly voice yelled his name. He initially
froze. Sweat drenched his forehead. He had to remind himself to keep
walking. The voice yelled his name again. This time it was closer.
And angrier.

He
picked up his pace and made it to the alley. Heavy footsteps were
gaining on him. He sped up. They sped up. Panic washed over him. He
dashed further into the alley. There was an open door on a building
half a block away. If he moved fast enough, he could dart in there
then around the next corner and possibly lose his assailant. The man
wasn’t thinking fast enough. Focus, he told himself. You’ve done
this before. Use your instincts. He slowed his breathing. His actions
were deliberate. Each of his steps was calculated, purposeful,
intuitive. He knew where he needed to go and how to get there. But
would he have time?

As
quickly as the thought entered his head, a muscled arm tightened
around his throat.

“You’re
mine now thief”, a gruff voice growled into his ear.

The
man could feel the heat of the guard’s breath against his cheek. He
could smell the garlic and onion the guard had with his last meal.

“You
don’t have any idea what you’re in for do you fool? We knew you’d
be back. That desert isn’t any place for guys like you.”

The
man struggled vigorously for a good time, trying to pry the heavy arm
from his neck. The guard easily overpowered him. His head hit the
stone street as they wrestled to the ground. With his arm in an
unnatural position, the man was no longer able to move. His arm would
be broken by the guard if he moved any further.

The
man was crudely jerked off the ground. Restraints were tightened on
his wrists. They careened through the bumpy roads of the city with
the guard boasting of his catch. “I’ve got him! The thief is
back! He’s made his triumphant return!”

People
began to turn their attention toward the man and the burly guard, now
parading loudly through the town square. Audible gasps were heard
throughout the crowd, murmurs of shock and disbelief. The man knew
there was no way he could free himself. Other guards were surrounding
them now. Once the mob realized who the guards had seized, the
shouting began at a fever pitch. Their cries and demands were
unintelligible, all blending together into one loud voice, each of
them demanding execution.

Within
what seemed like mere moments, the man was heaved into a cramped cell
with two other men. Both of them immediately recognized him.

“Hey
you’re the guy everyone’s been blabbering about! We heard about
your work. I’m impressed”, one of the men stated with a dirty
toothless grin.

The
man remained silent. He knew the process here. Keep your mouth shut
or they’ll twist your words into something that can be used against
you. It happened to him too many times. He stared at the stony floor,
vacancy in his eyes. He gave away nothing in his face, almost as if
he were incapable of emotion. Show no weakness, he thought to
himself. Weakness was a person’s biggest enemy in this place. The
guards, the prisoners, they all fed on weakness. It’s what gave
them power over the others.

An
old guard came in and shackled his wrists and ankles to the wall.
“There,” he snorted. “Since you managed to wiggle yourself free
last time, I made them nice and tight. Enjoy.”

For
an instant, the man felt a flash of relief. No more scorching sun.
The stone surrounding him was cool against his skin. The sweat on his
face began to dry and he removed the heavy hooded robe from around
his neck. A large pan of water sat just out of reach.

“Here,”
a man on the other side of the floor croaked, and pushed the pan
towards him. “I’ve given the guards the slip before too. I know
what that desert can do to a person. Take advantage of the water. I
can tell you need it.”

The
man reached for the water and sloshed it on his face and hands. It
had been weeks since his skin had been this clean. His fingernails
were caked with sand and silt. Clawing a path through the desert
will do that to a man. While the moderate cleanliness was satisfying
for a moment, the man could not afford to forget his plight. He had
no indication of what was to come. Judgment could take hours or it
could take weeks. The magistrates in the city were quite familiar
with the man. While he knew they were in no rush to release him, they
were in no hurry to give him a fair trial either. His contact with
the city guard was frequent in recent months. He wouldn’t be
receiving a break after this fiasco.

Outside,
the man could hear a growing commotion. A large crowd had gathered.
The prison was near the temple, which always drew many people,
especially at this time of year. This crowd seemed larger than
normal though. A near riot was taking place. In front of the crowd,
the man could make out a small platform. There looked to be two men
standing on it, both flanked by guards. An authoritative looking man
was asking questions of the crowd. He stood tall and was clearly in
charge.

“Why?”
the authoritative man boomed. He began to speak again but the voice
of the crowd overpowered him.

The
man could not make sense of what the commotion was about. He was
aware of some sort of uprising in recent weeks, of someone referring
to himself as “king,” but details were scarce. Maybe this protest
had something to do with that. Regardless, the man was indifferent.
He had his own trouble to occupy his time. Thoughts raced through his
head. Every possibility crossed his mind. Would he be executed?
Would they merely sentence him to prison? Or possibly a life of
servitude? Whatever his punishment, he was certain it would not be
pleasant.

Suddenly,
the door of the cell was flung open. A small group of guards barged
in. Chains filled their hands. Their sights were set on the man. The
other two prisoners cowered in the corners, paralyzed. Guards here
were capable of barbaric acts. The shackles were removed from the
man’s wrists and ankles. A new pair of restraints was fastened in
order to transport him and he was forced into a standing position.

“Get
off the floor you slimy thief,” the smaller craggy faced guard
barked as two of the others yanked the man up. They drug him into the
corridor, his feet hardly touching the ground. These guards were
menacing and brutish. There was no point in trying to escape.

They
made their way down the corridor to a small room. The man could see a
portly magistrate inside. His fate was about to be decided.

“Aahh
yes, the most wanted crook in the city has decided to show his face
again. How did the desert treat you?” the magistrate asked snidely.
He had a twisted sneer on his face, a crooked smile crept across his
lips. The man did not reply. “Well then, let’s get on with this
if you have nothing to say.”

The
magistrate began reading the charges against the man: multiple
thefts, resisting arrest, assault on an officer, assault on a
civilian. In all, there were nearly forty charges.

“What
do you propose we do with this man?” the magistrate asked the short
guard.

“Oh
you know what I think, sir. We’ve been dealing with him for too
long. He’s robbed our neighbors, accosted the men of the city, even
our guards! He’s received enough lenience. String him up,” the
short guard stated matter-of-factly.

Execution.
The idea petrified the man, he was aware of the possibility. Could it
be a reality? The magistrate stroked his rugged chin. “Yes, I do
believe you’re right. This man has terrorized our city for months.
People have feared for their safety. Let us end this charade. Sir, I
wash my hands of you. For your crimes, I sentence you to death.”
And with that, the magistrate signed the order of execution and
exited the room.

Death.
Cessation of existence. This was the end of his road. The guards
slapped the restraints on his wrists. Tighter than before. He was
marched out of the office, through the corridor, and into the searing
midday sun.

The
crowd was frenzied. Something seemed amiss. The man’s senses were
heightened. His ears were sharp. A fierce energy filled the streets.
People were pointing, whispering. He noticed a commotion on Skull
Hill. Why there? No one ever goes there, the man thought. Why the
discord?

Unexpectedly,
the guards were leading the man towards the hill. What was on the
hill? Executions don’t take place there. The city square is used.
But the square was empty.

“Come
on, speed it up, make a space!” one of his guards demanded. He
seemed pressed for time.

He
felt their stares, the metal shackles shone in the sun. A path was
made, they recognized him.

“He’s
going up there too!”

“Go
on! There’s space up there for one more!”

“You
belong there you savage!”

The
man hung his head. He’d accepted his fate but was perplexed about
the ruckus. The entire situation was mystifying.

Finally,
they’d reached the top of the hill. At the peak, his destiny was
unmistakable. Crosses, execution by crucifixion. His eyes drifted to
the looming structures. Terror filled his face. His eyes were wide.
His palms were trembling. His knees went weak. The guards jerked him
to his feet, dragging him to the crosses. He struggled beneath their
grip. A scant amount of energy remained in his body. He used it all
in a futile effort to flee. His fate was decided. They were pulling
him to his death.

At
once, they stopped. The sound of something dragging in the gravel
approached. Advancing was another cross, this one larger than the
other two. A figure was bearing this cross. The man could see the
figure was adorned with a mock crown and looked severely beaten. The
man recognized this figure. It was Him. The Man from Galilee. Why
were they punishing Him this way?

Before
he could detect what was going on, he was forced onto a cross.
Violent pain shot through his hand. He forgot all about the Man from
Galilee. Red, red, all he saw was red. A primal growl escaped his
lips. Iron tore through his flesh, into the bone, came out the other
side. Blood flowed from the wound, painting the ground below him. For
a moment, he lost consciousness. Burning, stabbing, his other hand
was pierced. His feet were punctured and joined to the cross. For a
moment, a flash of his mother crossed his sight. Her brown skin
glowed in the sun, her eyes filled with despair. He raised his head
and cried out, aware of the torment he’d caused his family. Her
presence flickered and was gone. The cross jolted, magnifying the
pain. Guards were pushing it upright, forcing it into a crater in the
earth. The weight of the man’s body nearly tore his hands from the
wood.

Hardly
able to lift his head, the man shifted his eyes. Another criminal was
suffering the same fate. The two bore identical wounds, identical
destinies. Guards quickly filled the pits of the crosses with dirt,
ensuring they remained firmly planted.

The
midday sun scorched their skin. The man’s vision became blurred.
Pain flooded his body. Buzzards circled above, squawking at the
spectacle. People trickled in, aghast at the vision before them. A
crowd gathered at the base of the crosses. Silence washed over the
once fervent group.

To
the man’s left, the Man from Galilee was stationed. Calm washed
over the Man’s face. His eyes rose to the sky, then He spoke. Gasps
could be heard. Women sobbed. The trio was a spectacle. Townspeople
crowded the scene.

In
delirium, the criminal on the end shouted to the Man from Galilee,
“Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”

Impassioned,
the man cried, “Don’t you fear God? You received the same
sentence he did. Ours is only right. We are getting what we deserve
for what we did. But he has done no wrong!”

Breathless,
the man summoned his last fragments of strength and exclaimed,
“Remember me, Jesus, when you come as King!”

The
Man from Galilee gazed at him, peace filled his eyes. Thorns pierced
his flesh and blood trickled down his face. Serenely, the Man
breathed, “I promise you that today you will be in Paradise with
me.”

With a weak smile, the
last breath of life escaped the man’s lips and he closed his eyes
for the last time.

Biography:

This is Kelly's first
time submitting a short story! She grew up in a tiny town in Iowa.
Kelly has a 9 year old son and a 30 year old boyfriend. She also has
a 5 month old cat that she enjoys dressing up in Halloween costumes.

Disclaimer: I cannot guarantee the accuracy of the information for our magazine on Duotrope, as I chose not to pay them, and therefore cannot see the listing.
Instead, please consider using The (Submission) Grinder to track your submissions. It is free. Find our listing here.